Devils Fortress
by Epona3
Summary: Felipe ends up in Devil's Fortress, without Zorro to save him.


Author's Note: Nothing has been added, only it was pointed out that the paragraphs weren't separated. It looked great in Word, but not here! It seems I was a victim of my own pet peeve, so I had to fix it.  
  
It is still not edited perfectly, but should read a little easier. Thanks to everybody who has commented, I love the feedback!  
  
Author's Note #2: Obviously, this is purely based on the New World Zorro (Fam version), mostly just Felipe. I wrote it when I hadn't seen an episode in about ten years, so obviously some of my facts are messed up. I realize this now, so there are many little errors, like the fact that Devil's Fortress was not in Mexico City. So if you read on, know that I have some facts wrong. But I still have a grasp of who I believe Felipe is, and he is still mute, and Zorro still exists. Somebody else owns these guys, I don't want their glory. So I hope somebody enjoys and reviews this! I never found a good place to separate into chapters, so I am sorry for the length.  
****  
  
I retreated from the world, long before the members of it decided to seclude me. I remember the days of realization, as I fought against the ropes and my captors. I remember hoping to be saved, hoping that it wasn't true. It didn't take long for me to lose hope, to realize how ignorant my decision was. Why was I so trusting? Why didn't Diego and I do some research. I was the fool, and I had given up the best life I could have ever dreamed of.  
  
If they had paid attention before revealing the plan, my secret would have been revealed. Why hide my hearing from my true mother? She had never known me as deaf, like Alejandro and Victoria. It was not part of my identity to her. I was willing to let these strangers in on the secret that I had kept from all but one person close to me. At least I wasn't a fool in that way.  
  
From the moment I was taken captive, I began to distance myself from reality. First, only to keep up the act I had held for years while I waited to be rescued. Later, I distanced myself so as not to think of the life I had given up and the only future that could lay ahead.  
  
I still heard them. As much as I pretended not to, I heard every word within earshot. I knew their plan, their history, their romance. I wasn't human to them, just a means to an end that would leave them rich. By the second week, I was sure I wanted to die. The thought of their plan being ruined because of my nonexistence was the only thing that made me happy.  
  
In return, it only provided me more misery. I tried to stop eating, but the pains in my stomach overwhelmed my senses, forcing me to give in. I tried to throw myself from the carriage, but that only resulted in being bound tighter. They thought I was trying to run away. How they imagined I had the energy to run, and where they thought I would go, I have no clue.  
  
I was numb. My body was numb from riding in the wagon over the rocky terrain. I longed for a seat on a horse, where I could relax to the movements beneath me. My mind was numb, slowly giving up on the world around.  
  
I lost track of time. We could have traveled for months, we could have traveled for days. I rarely raised my head from the intent focus I had on the floor of the wagon. Normally I might have memorized the patterns of the grain, but I had no interest in noticing the world around me even to that extent.  
  
At some point they began to tie my hands in front of my body, instead of behind my back. I found myself staring at the knots around my wrists. Before I had been able to free myself from clumsily tied knots, Diego taught me how. But as I sat in the bumpy wagon, I could only stare at the bloody mess of my wrists in the ropes.  
  
Eventually the pain became too much. My wrists were worn raw and bled constantly. Without thinking, I twisted and flipped my hands the right way and was free from the binds. It happened naturally, easily. When the rope dropped in my lap, I simply looked at it. I hoped more than anything that I could just sit there, letting my hands feel free before it was tied back in place. Just as I did with the roped tied, I stared at my hands as we rode along.  
  
My hands, they are my connection to the world. Of course, that's ignoring my eyes, which allow me to see what I can't hear. But my hands, they are more important to me than most people. They are my way of talking, the only way of talking I ever remember. They are my tools for working, oh how I missed working. The daily routine of waking up early in the morning, caring for the horses, cleaning up the hacienda, running errands for the de la Vegas.  
  
The de la Vegas. When my mind reached them, I stopped thinking about the past. Again I stared at my hands, this time thinking of nothing.  
  
I wonder now, if this is how I felt in that time right after my parents died, as I sat in wonder of my future. I remember nothing of the time. When Diego was talking about it just before I left, I thought I could remember, but obviously I was clueless. I do remember the year after Diego found me, when I adjusted to the deafness. I had watched lips, trying to understand the dance of the tongue as the world chattered around me. My sight sharpened as I caught movement out of the corner of my eye. Then, just when I had adjusted to the silence, the sound began to return.  
  
But I didn't want to think of those things as I rode along, so I stared at my bloody wrists and began to have a little hope that I may not live the rest of my life as a prisoner.  
  
It wasn't that I knew I would end up in Devil's Fortress. I knew that was an option, but I knew there were other possibilities, just as daunting. I had heard of what happens to deaf-mutes in other places, and cruel words were the least of my concerns. The most of my concerns was being thrown in a mental asylum. I can hear, and would be more than willing to reveal that secret if it would keep me out of such a place, but I didn't know if they would institutionalize a person for just being mute. I had less desire to speak now than ever, and doubt that with the greatest desire I could summon a voice for protest. Once I was used for the kidnapping, I wouldn't be set free to make my way to Los Angeles, and claiming I was insane would be the easiest way to get rid of me.  
  
I wouldn't have credited my captors with that much forethought, but they did manage to get me to leave the de la Vegas to be with them.  
  
Even though I had no doubt that I could get free, I wouldn't be able to run. I was weak from hunger, and had barely walked in the last week. I would have to be able to hide quickly, and hope not to be found. In the barren land that we traveled, I never saw such a place. So I stared at my hands and retreated in my mind. Daily, my hands would be retied, and I would slip out of the knots again at first chance.  
  
Then we arrived. I suddenly felt more alert. My stomach churned, knowing that whatever will become of me would happen soon. I was given new clothes, those of a caballero's son. I cringed at the sight of them, rather than the happiness a regular peasant boy might have had. My mouth was gagged with a fresh white rag, and I was left to wait in a dark cave.  
  
I don't know or care what happened, but my captors never returned. Two caballeros found me in the cave after what felt like days of waiting. They removed the gag in the dimly lit cave, and demanded my name. With my hands tied, I could tell them nothing.  
  
I opened my mouth and shook my head, trying to tell them that I couldn't speak.  
  
"No!" The man replied "You refuse to tell me your name?!!" My motions were taken as defiance. I immediately tried to correct the misunderstanding, but with only the nod and shake of the head, I had very little means of communication. I was taken away, and shortly thereafter thrown into the depths of Devil's Fortress.  
I was thrown into a crowded cell. In actuality, it was the most freedom I had since leaving Los Angeles. The other prisoners gave very little notice to me. One man pointed to an empty space in the middle of the floor, as the rest of the men were lying on the hard ground ready for sleep. I moved to that space, curled on the floor and laid awake listening to the sounds of what was likely to be my last home. I soon learned that listening to the sounds of a prison at night were rather invasive and not worthy of repeating. I willed myself to quickly fall asleep each night to avoid the haunting sounds of the men around me.  
  
We worked hard during the day, not leaving much time for conversation. I enjoyed the work, and was happy not to sit in the cell all day with the same 10 men. After about a week, as we were working with the large stones (as we always did) one of the other prisoners was yelling across the yard to get my attention. I continued working, not wanting to be seen as defiant in my tasks, but consciously ignored his words making my first effort to remain deaf in my new life. The prisoner quickly stomped over to me and I wondered if I had made the right choice.  
  
"Boy!" He yelled from directly behind me. I put down the large rock, and turned to get another. I pretended to be startled by his presence and puzzled by the look of anger on his face. "Did you not hear me calling for you?" He asked, his face turning red.  
  
No I shook my head. In my first successful communication, I pointed to my ears and mouth and shook my head.  
  
"You're a deaf-mute?" He asked, genuine interest showing. "They threw a deaf-mute in this God-forsaken place? Of all the things."  
  
I nodded that he was correct, and went back to work. There was nothing I could do to explain the situation to him, and I didn't want attention drawn to me not working. As he went back to work I could hear him voicing his frustrations to the guards.  
  
"A deaf-mute? You guys have a deaf-mute working out here? What if we were in danger and he needed to shout a warning, he'd be useless right? What if he was in danger? We could shout all day to no avail!" He continued on the same line of thought for quite some time. I was happy to hear that he was concerned for my safety as well as his, and briefly wondered what he was trying to get my attention for in the first place.  
  
The other workers immediately began talking about me. It was odd to have such a grand revelation in the usually repetitive day to day life. Even the guards were talking as they stood behind me.  
  
"Sanchez, did you know this one was deaf?"  
  
"Are you serious? How do you know?"  
  
"He just told one of the other guys. I never knew either."  
  
"Are you sure?" Sanchez doubted. I braced myself in case of a test, and as I did a pistol fired into the air. The workers around me all jumped and spun to the shooter. More slowly, I turned as though to see what they were jumping from.  
  
"Yep," the other man replied. "He's really deaf. And all this time I was thinking he was just a quiet worker."  
  
I was facing the men as the last comments were made about me, but they obviously didn't expect me to know what they were saying. I almost enjoyed my regained eavesdropping tool.  
  
That night in the cell, the men all looked at me different. It wasn't a different look like I have faced before, the look of one trying to keep a distance from me, as though my condition was contagious. It was as though they were looking at me for the first time, realizing that they never bothered to notice when I first arrived. I almost felt as though they wanted me to speak up, wanting me to say "Hola, my name is Felipe. Glad you noticed me." I just looked to the ground and moved to my spot on the floor. I laid down on my back, propping my head with my hands as I looked at the ceiling wondering what would happen next.  
  
I could hear the men talking around me. Their voices were hushed, as most people were until they gained confidence in talking behind me. In the boring solitude of our cell, this news had the men talking more than I'd heard in the past week. Finally, one was sent to get my attention and I saw a large body looming over me, his hand waving in my face.  
  
As my response, I made eye contact.  
  
"You read lips?" He asked in a no-nonsense tone that either meant that he wasn't going to waste his time making himself understood, or that he didn't realize that speaking slowly might help me read his lips if I could.  
  
I nodded and stood up, wanting to be eye level if he asked any more questions.  
  
"Can you write?" He asked.  
  
Again, I nodded. I didn't know what he had in mind, normally I would have used a stick in the dirt, but the floor of the cell was rock.  
  
"Okay then." Was his response. "We'll figure something out. That's all I wanted to know."  
  
The next night one of the men invited me to sit by the wall, where I could watch the conversations, or where they could watch me. The same man that talked to me the day before came up with a piece of limestone.  
  
"I found this at the quarry today." He handed it to me, then pointed at the floor. "Your name."  
  
I smiled back at him, amazed at the effort he had gone to communicate with me. Quickly I crouched to the ground and write my name.  
  
"Felipe?" He asked, and I nodded. He then introduced himself as Juan, and introduced me to the other men in the room. At one point, he faced the men as he pointed at them, and I had to touch his shoulder to get his attention. "What?" he turned to ask. I pointed at my eyes and lips.  
  
"Oh." He replied, and started over, pointing to each man then turning toward me to say his name.  
  
That night the men sat around talking and I stayed by the wall, 'watching' the conversation.  
  
At one point, one of the men tried to get my attention. "Hey Felipe!" I was looking at a man on the other side of the room who pointed at the one trying to get my attention. This was a detail that I could never have mastered if I had not been deaf for so long. I looked at the man questioningly.  
  
"What did you do to get in here?" The man asked.  
  
Knowing I could never explain what happened, and because I truly did not know what the charges against me were, I shrugged that I didn't know.  
  
The man thought I didn't understand him, and slowed his speech "What did you do to get imprisoned?"  
  
I nodded that I understood him, then gave the same shrug.  
  
"You don't know why you are here?" The man next to him asked. I nodded that he was correct.  
  
"You little devil. You did so much you don't know what they caught you for?" He asked.  
  
I shook my head and laughed at the comment. I grabbed the piece of limestone and quickly scribbled innocent.  
  
The man next to me couldn't read, and asked Juan to read it. "He say's he's innocent." Then he turned to me. "Why would they throw a young guy like you into this hell if you didn't do nothing?" He asked.  
  
I looked at him for a moment then put my hand over my mouth, and for the first time the men noticed the scars around my wrists.  
  
"Couldn't defend yourself huh?" The same man asked.  
  
I shook my head, then embarrassed by the attention I pulled my knees to my chest and looked down. Ever since Diego found me, I had never felt defenseless, but that was exactly what happened to me. I began to feel angry with myself for the hundredth time for getting into this situation.  
  
I have never been one for self-pity, though often I have over-analyzed myself. Perhaps I was doing either, but the result was deep depression that killed any urge I had for facing reality.  
  
I would get up in the morning and do the work, often lifting large rocks to further build the fortress. If I was lucky, the work would be outside and I would get to see the sun. When I was unlucky the work would be inside, for weeks at a time, leaving me to only imagine the light of day. Those times were the worst, in the dimly lit caves digging out the rocks.  
  
After working each day, we would be fed and taken back to the cell. Regularly we would be shuffled into different cells, with different people. Eventually I knew none of the people in my cell, and only rarely saw the men I originally introduced myself to. The piece of limestone was soon lost, and my inability to find anymore led to my realization of the extremes that Juan must have gone to for the small bit of communication. I tried to get away in the cells, to find an empty place near a wall and to make myself as small as possible while I listened to whatever conversations were going on. Occasionally, I would sit up and 'watch' the conversations, even being included by some.  
  
I was one of the youngest prisoners I saw. There were very few men that did not yet have facial hair. Some of the men joked about me being Indian instead of Spanish, like some of the native tribes that never grow a beard. But eventually it did grow, a sign of my development into manhood while in that fortress.  
  
I may have stayed there forever, giving up on life before it really began. I felt that I had surrendered my soul, for reasons that I would never know. I would have died in that fortress and not even known the actual charge against me! But it all changed with the one force that was ever able to save my soul.  
  
I was sitting in the cell, for once I had acquired a corner and could lean back on one wall and rest my head on the other. A new prisoner was in our cell, talking with the group.  
  
His tale was just like all the others. He didn't belong in here, he was framed by an evil lawman of some sort. I was about to fall asleep, tired of hearing the same stories leading to that miserable place, when he spoke of Zorro.  
  
For the first time in ages, I had to concentrate hard to not jump at a sound. The sound of that word, that name, made me want to jump up and run to the man and ask him all about Zorro.  
  
I listened to every word, but I wanted to see it, to see the man that had news of my master, to adsorb the information I was hearing. I slowly opened my eyes, pretending to wake up from pain and join the conversation. I stared straight at the speaker, and my surprise must have shown.  
  
"Hey amigo, you all right?" The man next to me asked, but I didn't see him.  
  
"Jose, he can't hear." Another guy, who was in my sight, informed Jose. I turned toward Jose.  
  
"You all right?" He asked slowly to my face.  
  
I nodded, and while I still had his attention pointed to the speaker and drew a Z in the air.  
  
"No buddy, he's not Zorro. He met The Fox though."  
  
I looked at the man in question, wondering what the actual circumstances of their meeting was. He was looking at me (a benefit of my deafness coming up in the general conversation) so I raised my eyebrow for more information.  
  
"You look like you've seen a ghost, amigo." He commented.  
  
"I've never seen him like this," one of the other men not in my sight said. "Never seen him take this much interest in conversation."  
  
"Did you ever meet Zorro?" The man of my interest asked.  
  
Slowly, I nodded. Meeting Zorro was quite an understatement, but I couldn't tell of my actual relationship with the legend.  
  
"Si? Is he the reason you are in here?" He asked.  
  
I shook my head. I would have been proud to serve a lifetime in that fortress if it was to defend Zorro's honor. I pointed at the man, and raised my eyebrow quizzically.  
  
"Yeah, that sneaky fox is the reason I'm here. Him and that idiot alcade in Los Angeles. He hired me to catch Zorro, once he re-emerged. I was set up poorly by that idiot, and humiliated by Zorro. Unfortunately, the alcade was humiliated even more. As a result he had me thrown in here, on some fake charge I could never disprove."  
  
I thought a moment, wanting to ask a million questions. I couldn't focus on asking any one of them, and just begged for more information with my eyes.  
  
"Are you a fan of that masked man?" He asked.  
  
I couldn't say 'no', but I was afraid to say 'yes'. If this man held a grudge against Zorro he might also hold a grudge against his sympathizers. I nodded, then was quick to wave my hand over my shoulder.  
  
"In your past huh? How long you been in here?"  
  
I had no clue. I tried to remember how long I had been there, but I couldn't. I held up 2 fingers, shook my hand and held up 3, then shrugged.  
"Is it like that around here?" He asked, realizing my sense of time.  
  
"Doesn't really matter after a while, each day is just like the last. Sometimes you go for weeks without seeing the sun. I can see how the boy lost track of time." Another man explained.  
  
"You from Los Angeles?"  
  
I nodded.  
  
"DeSoto send you here?" He asked.  
  
No, I replied, wondering who DeSoto was.  
  
"Well then how did you. oh, I guess you can't." The man looked ashamed as he realized I couldn't respond.  
  
I shook my head, then looked around to see if any of my original cell-mates were in with us. I put my head down, so he didn't feel like he had to continue the conversation.  
  
"He's a tough kid." I heard one of the other men say.  
  
"Hah. For all we know he lost his hearing from exploding dynamite on a mine full of innocent workers. Not everyone here is innocent."  
  
"I don't think he could do anything like that. Pedro, weren't you in Los Angeles long ago?"  
  
"I passed through pretty regularly about 5 years ago. Didn't recognize many people though. I was always just dropping off supplies at that tavern."  
  
"Victoria Escalante, ah she is a wonderful woman. She had just married Diego de la Vegas. Such a happy couple."  
  
My stomach churned. Hearing of my old friends tore at my heart. Diego married Victoria, they were happy.  
  
"I thought she was holding out for el Zorro?" Pedro asked.  
  
"Something happened. Zorro disappeared for a while and Los Angeles became really suppressed. Evidently Victoria gave up on him re-appearing. Diego happened to be taking the loss of Zorro harder than the rest. Victoria was comforting him, and they got married. Wanted to hurry up and start a family from what I heard."  
  
"Why would Zorro disappear?" Pedro thought out loud. "Wait a second."  
  
Pedro got up and walked toward me. He leaned down and pulled the hair off my face. "There weren't that many deaf-mutes in Los Angeles were there?" He asked me.  
  
No I replied.  
  
"You helped out at the tavern. Helped with unloading shipments and stuff didn't you."  
  
Diego had sent me to help Victoria when she was expecting large shipments. This man had seen me there. I nodded in agreement.  
  
"I remember you! The de la Vega servant boy!" Pedro exclaimed.  
  
I wasn't sure how I felt about this realization. I nodded, he had remembered me. I never thought of myself as that memorable.  
  
"You worked for the de la Vegas?" Another of the men asked. I had forgotten how popular my master was.  
  
I nodded.  
  
"Well, we learn something more about the mysterious deaf-mute." One of the men commented. "Maybe one day we'll find out why he's really here."  
  
When you find out, please tell me. I thought. Instead I pretended that I didn't notice the comment.  
  
Pedro tapped me on the shoulder. "You didn't do something to the de la Vega's to end up here did you?"  
  
I frantically shook my head. It was so emotional to suddenly think, and talk about the de la Vegas that I made every sign I knew for love and family, finally crossing myself.  
  
"Hey amigo, I don't have a clue what that meant, but I'll guess you're still on good terms with the folks."  
  
I shrugged. It had been a long time. I had changed.  
  
"You don't think those caballeros can help you get out of here?"  
  
I touched my head and motioned no.  
  
"They don't know you're here?"  
  
I shook my head and shrugged, oh how this made me long for a person that I could really talk to, somebody that knew signs. Finally I just wanted to end the torture, to forget about the de la Vegas. I sat back and looked down, trying to end the conversation.  
  
"I guess we should all get some sleep."  
  
I didn't though. I sat awake, thinking of all my friends in Los Angeles and the new lives they had made. Why did I ever leave them?  
Pedro's conversation brought up memories of all the things I missed. I had tried not to think of my life, not to remember the smiles of the de la Vegas, the smells of the barn, the bustle of the Tavern. To think about those things almost killed me from the inside. I retreated further than before, lost in the happy thoughts of Los Angeles.  
  
At night, I would sit and cry. Thinking back now, I know I should have felt ashamed to be crying in front of all those men, but at the time I didn't even know they were there. When we were outside and guards rode by on horses, I found myself staring at the creatures. To sit on a horse again, to touch a horse. but it would never be. I was a prisoner, and would always be a prisoner.  
  
Then there was the change. It started with increased commotion in the cells. Men had been escaping, or released, something unheard of, though often promised. The government was changing, and with it the treatment of prisoners.  
  
I refused to get my hopes up. If prisoners were being reevaluated, I likely would not have a chance to defend my case the second time around. I tried to not notice what was going on around me, but the commotion was hard to ignore.  
  
We were working outside, a light day in comparison to most. I was taking a break, drinking a sip of water, when he appeared. Work stopped. The world stopped. I almost fainted.  
  
"Jesus Christo." The man beside me said quietly, then quickly crossed himself.  
  
I too crossed myself. Not quite Jesus, but just as much a savior. It was my master, my patron, and my friend, El Zorro.  
  
He was walking on top of the wall, the wall I had helped build. His silhouette was outlined by the afternoon sun. He was looking down at the prisoners. My eyes hurt looking up at him, but I would never take them away. I pulled my hair out of my eyes, and wished I could do the same with my beard that had grown. In a fit of determination, I waved my arms in the air, flailing to get his attention. Unfortunately, it worked.  
  
Zorro noticed me. His face flushed, and he spun away, ready to run from the impending guards. With his attention diverted, he lost balance and fell. into the prison. His fall was graceful, yet horrifying. I was beside him almost before he hit the ground. He laid there, the wind knocked from his lungs. I turned his body over, quickly getting surrounded by other prisoners and guards.  
  
"It is you." He said, then miraculously jumped up and grabbed my arm. He pulled me through the crowd, fighting away the guards before I knew they were close. In the corner of the yard I saw the rope, obviously placed there just in case he needed it. I quickly climbed up the rope in front of him, while he fought off guards and other prisoners from behind.  
  
Easily I reached the top, where Zorro cut off the rope and pushed me toward the building, where we easily scaled down to the ground below. My knees weakened as I hit the ground outside the prison. I was free.  
  
Toronado was waiting, Zorro swiftly mounted and pulled me behind him. I wrapped my arms tight around his waist as he pushed Toronado past the encroaching soldiers. I heard the bullets as they shot at us, galloping through the city. Several times I almost fell as we turned down a side street. Once we had lost the majority of our followers, Zorro pulled into a building, riding Toronado into a tiny room.  
  
I nearly fell off the horse, backing into the wall and staring at the man before me. It was really him. He had really saved me. He had come into Devil's Fortress and rescued me from a life of imprisonment.  
  
"Felipe." Diego said, his eyes tearing up. "Felipe, what. why."  
  
I shook my head, I didn't want to explain right then. All I wanted was to know that it was real, that he was really there and we were really free. He wrapped his arms around me, and I began to cry.  
  
"All this time. Where was I for you?" He asked and began to cry also.  
The adjustment was hard. Diego was staying with a family friend outside the city, but I refused to go. The last thing I wanted was to present myself to caballeros I didn't know only hours after escaping from prison. We sat in that room, sharing crowded space with his trusted steed.  
  
"I'll go into the market before it gets too late. I trust you want to shave and get cleaned up?"  
  
I nodded. Thank you. I signed. My hands trembled.  
  
"I'll be right back." Diego commented, then he left.  
  
I relished my time with Toronado. I ran my hands all over his body, sliding my fingers through his mane and tail. I stood beside his head, scratching his ears, looking into his eyes. He laid his head on my chest, and I felt a tear fall down my cheek. I would have to get in control of my emotions. I sat in the hay and watched the stallion graze.  
  
Diego returned, with a razor. "Here, I don't want you to look like you just escaped from Devil's Fortress when we return to the hotel."  
  
I gave him a horrified look. I wasn't ready to go in public.  
  
"It's just around the corner, don't worry."  
  
That was easy for him to say. I looked at the razor, with its sharp blade shaking in my hand.  
  
I can't. I signed slowly.  
  
"Yes you can. I refuse to let you spend the rest of your life in this room!" Diego replied.  
  
No. I can't. I held up the razor, still shaking in my hands.  
  
"Oh. Sorry, I just feel so guilty." He took the razor from my hand. I held still while he cut the hair from my face. It fell on the ground in clumps, a dirty black mass.  
  
"I have clean clothes for you, but you should wait to change until after you have bathed."  
  
For a moment I ignored his words, then reminding myself that I was now with the one man who knew my secret, I nodded gently.  
  
"Now hold still." Diego demanded, then he cut close to my face with the razor. My body shivered as the blade touched my skin.  
  
"Now," Diego said as he stepped back. "I think I recognize you now."  
  
You didn't earlier? I asked.  
  
Diego smiled. "I don't know how I did. You don't look like yourself amigo."  
  
I put my hand to my face. It felt weird. I looked at Diego, trying to keep my emotions in tact.  
  
"Here," he handed me a string. "Tie your hair back. Let's get you cleaned up."  
  
I clumsily tied the string around my hair, which fell at least to my shoulder blades, and followed Diego onto the street. I kept my head down, overwhelmed enough by the sounds of freedom. I wondered how I looked. Did I look like a criminal? Did I stand out? We turned into a building and Diego led me up the stairs to a private room. There was a tub, filled with warm water.  
  
"There's clean clothes on the bed. Go ahead and wash up. Take your time. I'll be downstairs."  
  
He walked out the door, leaving me to clean up. Slowly I peeled the clothes from my body and soaked in the bath. When I finished, I put on the clothes, the first clean clothes I had worn since I was dressed as the son of a caballero for the kidnapping. With a brush that was sitting by the clothes, I brushed out my hair, marveling at its length. I took a deep breath, and walked out of the room.  
  
I found Diego downstairs. He was pretending to read a book when I walked up. He just smiled. "You must be hungry?" He asked.  
  
My stomach rumbled at the thought of hot, fresh food. I nodded and took a seat at the table. Not long afterward a waitress brought a plate full of enchiladas and sat them in front of me.  
  
I held the knife and fork, trying to disguise the awkwardness of their feel in my hands. I cut off a small piece, and ate. Diego watched as though studying my every move. I put down the utensils, wanting my stomach to slowly adjust to the food.  
  
Why were you there? I asked, assuming nobody around would understand my signs.  
  
"It doesn't matter now. Nothing matters now. I sent notice to Father and Victoria that I will be returning a week later than planned."  
  
Victoria I thought, remembering the news I had heard. You married her.  
  
"Yes. About a year ago."  
  
What about. I didn't want to make the motion for Zorro in public. Her lover?  
  
"He took a long break after you left." Diego explained. "How did you know about the marriage?"  
  
I took another bite, willing my stomach to accept the food. I shrugged and pointed at my ear.  
  
"You heard about it in there?" He looked surprised.  
  
I nodded.  
  
"Carlos Perez?" He asked. I had to think for a moment.  
  
I couldn't remember the guy's name, not that I would have remembered if I had heard it. I shrugged. Man hired to find you. I signed.  
  
"That was Carlos." Diego said, then concern spread across his face. "He was a bad man. He deserved to be in that place." He paused for a second. "You had to work with him?"  
  
Live with him. I corrected.  
  
"Madre de Dios." Diego replied, and crossed himself. "He almost killed Sergeant Mendoza. And that was after." Diego stopped. Something obviously pained him. "That was after he attacked Victoria." He said solemnly.  
  
My stomach almost revolted at the though of that man doing anything to Victoria.  
  
"He didn't do anything to her, but if Zorro had shown up a little later. I would hate to think about it."  
  
I wanted to change the subject. I was sure that I spent a lot of time with a lot of bad men, but it was different to know why they were bad.  
  
Mendosa? I asked, barely remembering the sign I had created for his name.  
"Oh," Diego snapped back from his thoughts. "He was shot in the stomach, running after Zorro. We were very worried about him for a while, but he pulled through. He was walking around some when I left a few weeks back."  
I liked Mendoza, and was happy to hear that he was ok. I took another bite of the food, which my stomach was not yet adjusted to.  
  
Diego and I continued to catch up for an hour or so. He was gentle, asking very few questions that might make me uncomfortable. When we finished Diego asked me if I wanted to walk around outside a little bit. Physically and mentally exhausted, I declined.  
  
Gradually, I would adjust to life outside the prison. The spices of the food, the comfort of the bed, the feel of a horse all reminded my senses of the life I had been missing. After a week of regaining strength and courage to travel, Diego and I headed home.  
  
Home. In all my time away, I hadn't thought if the de la Vegas as home. I tried to think of it as only a place I had lived in the past. Now that I realized I would return to the hacienda, I relaxed knowing that I was truly headed home. 


End file.
